Issue 27 - Columbia: A Journal of Literature and Art

Now, this is a continuation of the beginning of the story. As
I began to fall over, Hand caught me in his arms and, using the
rope he had tied around my waist, gently lowered me to the
ground. I sank completely into the snow and quickly disappeared
from sight. Hand then attached the rope to the pedestal and slid
down. When he got down he dug me out of the snow, lifted me
onto his back and, in the suffocating blizzard, dashed off unsteadily
against the wind. The spirits of the snow howled and wept and the
man stumbled every tenth step.
Hand stopped at the entrance to the basement of a burned-out
building on a corner two blocks away and four or five men
appeared from inside. One man took me while another handed
Hand some kind of envelope, slapped him on the shoulder, and
smiled. Then, leaving Hand behind standing slightly dazed, the
men walked away quickly.
While leaving, one of the men said, "It went well, huh?
Madmen can be useful. That guy thinks he got rid of a curse while
at the same time making some money, and we got rid of our
'curse,' too." Another said," 'Reality' used 'fantasy' Lots of people
knew that guy wanted to steal the statue, and no one will doubt
he is the criminal. And the jerk's crazy. It's as if an alibi came
forward to protect us."
These men were sent by the government. To them, I was an
eyesore. To them, those who brought me into existence are eyesores.
That's why, blinded by this narrow reality, they incited the
crazed Hand into action. My relation to Hand, however, did not
end here. The story continues.
I was carried straight to a secret factory, was melted down, was
then carried to a different factory, was mixed with other pieces of
metal of the same composition as myself, and became an enormous,
diluted lump. After that I was processed into various things, part of
me becoming a pistol bullet. Well, actually, since I had already lost
my single-object state, from my point of view that one part of me
that became the bullet could be considered the essential me. I was
both "that" and "this;" both "a part" and "the whole." Therefore,
from now on, "I" am that one pistol bullet.
Even a pistol bullet has many possible fates. From among them
I was assigned a secret rdle.The purpose for,which I was to be used
had already been determined. I was inserted into the chamber of
a pistol where an enormous energy behind me was ready to push
me out. My head was looking down a small, dark tunnel. At the
end of this tunnel I was able to see pocket lint.
In this condition I must have spent two or three days, together
with the pistol in the pocket, wandering through the streets. One
night, suddenly, I was pulled out into the air. At the end of the
tunnel now was not lint, but a street scene. I saw the form of a
man illuminated by the streetlights. It was Hand. He had been
designated, by the government, as the thief of the "Dove of Peace"
and had been a fugitive for over a month. It was this pitiful Hand
who was now a fatigued, humiliated tumor. The officials had used
him to steal me and now planned to eliminate him. Not only that,
they were going to use me!
The trigger was pulled, a comedic energy exploded, and I slid
a straight line out the tunnel. That was the sole, inevitable path.
There was no other path. I flew straight toward Hand, ripping out
some flesh and blood as I passed right through him, and then was
crushed as I pierced the trunk of a tree by the roadside. Behind
me, Hand groaned and I heard the sound of him falling. With that,
I completed my last transformation.